


Tales from the Fleet

by EldritchSandwich



Category: WildStar (Video Game)
Genre: Banter, Flirting, Fluffy Sandwich, Gen, Pre-Canon, Teasing, Vignette, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 08:59:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5621077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EldritchSandwich/pseuds/EldritchSandwich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short pieces originally written before the game's release and taking place before the discovery of Nexus. Currently incomplete, such as it is, and may or may not be updated in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ladies' Night

"How do the yellow ones move again?"

"The yellow ones are Bantas Roses. They can move two spaces in any direction, but they can only move diagonally if there's another piece in the way."

"And the pink ones can jump over other pieces?"

"Which pink ones?"

"Those."

"No, those are Phantom Lilies. They can move any number of spaces side to side, or one space up or down, but you can't move one if your opponent just moved one. The bright pink ones with lots of petals are the Silver Vex, they're the ones that can move any number of spaces horizontally or vertically and can jump over other pieces but can't move to the outermost spaces on the board."

"Why are they called 'Silver Vex' if they're pink?"

Tirra flounced back in her chair in irritation, long red ears quivering. "Ooh, it's like you don't even want to learn to play!"

Before Lacey could assure her room/squad mate that she did indeed want to learn (and would the Aurin just be kind enough to repeat the last fifteen rules she'd blown through) the hatch creaked open, followed by the familiar sound of a Granok slamming her forehead against the frame and then cursing about it like it didn't happen every single time she came through the door.

Lacey straightened in her seat, but knew better than to salute. Tirra stayed in her casual position and waved daintily. "Evening, Spur. I was just teaching our baby psychic to play Transcenda."

The broad-shouldered Granok frowned, because that was the only facial expression she knew how to make. "What's Transcenda?"

Lacey groaned, scrubbing her tattooed palms across her eyes. "It's like chess, only you have to share your pieces with your opponent and she gets to make up rules as she goes along."

Tirra stuck out her tongue, and the slabs of rock Spur had where lesser species made do with eyebrows descended in confusion. "What's chess?"

"It's like gamok, only you take turns and you use little pieces on a board instead of people."

The looming Granok sniffed skeptically. "Then it's not like gamok."

Lacey leaned back with a groan. "It's not like chess either."

Tirra let out a wounded huff. "Here I am, trying to share my culture in the spirit of mutual cooperation, and what do I get? Abuse and unappreciation. How typical."

"That's not a word."

"Anyway," Spur ground out before Tirra could snap back, "I came to tell you to get some rest. We got an assignment tomorrow morning."

That made both women lean forward. "What kind?"

"Grocery shopping. Scanners picked up some little planet supposed to be covered in edible algae."

Tirra's nose wrinkled. "When you say 'edible,' you mean..."

"I mean if you can keep it down, it probably won't kill you."

Lacey licked her lips. "And when you say 'covered'..."

"I mean wear your thick boots."

Tirra leaned back and shook her head, in the process sending waves of red hair whipping around her face. "Golly, Corporal, how do you always get us the best jobs?"

"You'd rather everyone on the Fleet starve to death?" Spur snapped. Tirra immediately averted her eyes, tail curling around her knees dejectedly.

Lacey sighed. "C'mon, Spur. You know she didn't..."

"Yeah. Sorry kid. We just...we all need some sleep."

Lacey just nodded wordlessly as Spur closed the hatch behind her. When it was closed, Tirra crossed her arms. "Must've had another fight with Daddy."

"Hey. She's got a lot to worry about. C'mon, let's get some sleep. You can try to teach me again after we get back and my brain's had time to recover."

The pale, dark-haired human gave Tirra's hand a reassuring pat before sliding into the narrow bunk hanging from one wall of the tiny compartment. She'd just closed her eyes when the bunk got a whole lot narrower.

Lacey's eyes shot open to find Tirra lying next to her. She cleared her throat. "Is there, um...something wrong with your bunk?"

Tirra shook her head even as she buried it in Lacey's shoulder. "No, why? Would you rather we sleep there?"

"Is there a...particular reason you're not over there?"

"It's too cold. You're warm," the Aurin muttered.

Lacey blushed as Tirra's tail curled its way around her knees. Before she could say anything, the Aurin was asleep. The young Esper just leaned her head back against the threadbare pillow and sighed.

Just another night on the Fleet.


	2. A Day's Work

The thing about being an Exile was that every facet of one's grim and dingy existence could be described as in some way military, but not without a big old 'ex-' on the front. Everyone had a rank, but no one saluted. You had a commanding officer who gave you assignments, but then you came home and got drunk (or more) together. Everyone carried a weapon, but only about half of them were actually in working order.

And everyone had a uniform, but no two people had the same one.

Lacey's, for instance, was ash gray leather and showed off her tattoos while giving the unmistakable impression that anyone caught staring at them for too long would regret it. Tirra's, to put it bluntly, looked like something one might see on a pinup calendar with a theme of guerrilla insurgency. And Spur's, well...that much armor looks good on anyone.

The ships in the drop bay of the Pint of Bitter were the same way, a mix of pods and shuttles and salvage boats that each would have required a specialized mechanic even if they weren't all constantly falling apart. The drop pod that belonged to Recon Team C, nicknamed the Bearcat, was kept in better repair than most. This was partly because the women of Recon C took pride in their work, and partly because they wanted to spend as little time in the hangar as possible.

"Hey look, boys, it's the lovely ladies of Team C." The sneering, too-handsome-by-half human sizing up Lacey and Tirra as they walked into the bay was Diego Casper, the esteemed leader of Recon B. He would have preferred to be the esteemed leader of Recon A, and spent most of his time taking it out on Recons C through F. He leaned back to address the other members of his squad. "Ain't it funny how the girly team always gets sent out to pick up the shoppin'? Wonder why that is, boys."

Tirra snarled in a way that suggested she was about to offer a rebuttal that made use of her teeth, and Lacey just grabbed her arm. "Come on. We've got work to do."

"Yeah, you're right, I'm sorry honey. Y'all gotta get back in time to come over to my quarters and cook me some of whatever you're scrapin' up. Guarantee I'll make it worth your while!"

Lacey ignored the mocking laughter and just tugged on Tirra's elbow again. When the hand smacked the backside of her leather pants, she ignored that too.

When they reached the Bearcat, Tirra flounced back against the hull of the pod as dramatically as she could. "You should just let me bite him!"

"You think we're getting bad assignments now?"

"Well...you're an Esper. Couldn't you...make him think he's covered in bugs or something?"

Lacey looked down, hand rubbing the back of her neck. "I don't...use my power like that."

"Like what? Defending yourself? Giving some skin-tail a taste of his own medicine?"

Lacey sighed and leaned back next to the pouting Aurin. "Ti...I just don't want to get involved, okay?"

"Involved with what?"

Lacey straightened up. Tirra just wondered how a seven-foot tall woman made of solid stone could sneak up on them like that.

"Nothing. Are we ready to go?"

Spur nodded curtly. "Just about. Just waiting for..."

The other Granok's entry into the hangar was much less subtle. Captain Grayback was more than a head taller than his daughter, wearing twice as much armor, and permanently scowling. He drew to a stop across from the pod, and all three women stood a little straighter. "Corporal. Ready for departure?"

Spur nodded sharply, hands behind her back and chest thrust out and looking even more like a statue than she usually did. "Yes, sir."

The captain just nodded too. "Good luck."

"Thank you, sir."

"Familial affection at its sappiest," Tirra muttered. Lacey elbowed her in the side before Spur could turn around.

"Let's get going."

None of them looked back at the retreating captain or the other recon teams; Lacey, Tirra, and Spur just piled wordlessly into the pod, bracing themselves to spend the day wading through knee-deep algae.

Part of being an Exile, after all, meant that whether it was glamorous or not, you always had a job to do.


	3. Hazard Pay

"Chadh!"

Coincidentally, Spur had managed to put her tungsten-sheathed boot down into a particularly deep pocket of algae at just that moment, and so actually ended up with a reason to say it. Not that the scowling Granok thought of it as a particularly happy coincidence.

Tirra, who had somehow managed so far to pick her way across the shallowest parts of the swamp and was thus only slimy and blue-green up to mid-calf instead of to her knees, turned to face their superior. "What's it mean?"

"It's slang for the goronga."

Tirra blinked and turned to Lacey with her fluffy red eyebrows raised. Between trying to corral her not-entirely-reliable Scan-Bot and trying to keep the living muck from sucking her boots off, the human could only spare a shrug, so Tirra turned back to Spur.

"All right, I'll ask. What's a goronga?"

Spur waved her off. "Y'know, the...private body part...that not being made outta solid stone, you probably don't have."

Tirra and Lacey shared a (vaguely horrified) glance until the human cleared her throat and turned back to the Scan-Bot, which was currently hovering a few feet above the algae taking readings and causing ripples. "Anyway. Ti. What about yours?"

"Right. Um, I guess..." The Aurin glanced around as if her mother were lurking just out of sight waiting to pop out and yank on her ear as soon as she said it. "Melabora."

Spur either couldn't or didn't bother to hold back a snort. "Doesn't exactly sound dirty."

"Well it means..." She stroked nervously at the fur on her tail. "It means 'to burn the forest down.' As in the Dominion are a bunch of filthy, smoke-sucking melaboradae..."

The Aurin's hands were balled up and her shoulders were tensed, until Lacey reached out to take the former and gently stroke the latter. Tirra smiled tentatively and pressed her forehead against the wiry human's in silent thanks. When they pulled apart, Lacey's cheeks were pink and Tirra's smile just widened. "Your turn. What's the dirtiest word in Humanese?"

Lacey rolled her eyes. "Well...I guess it's probably..."

Whatever it probably was was drowned out by the shrill beeping of the Scan-Bot. Lacey turned to the display, and her eyes narrowed. "The tanks are full. We might want to get heading back."

Spur groaned. "I figured you'd want to stay and study this fascinating algae."

"This fascinating algae seems like the only living thing here. And I can study it when it's in a storage tank instead of my socks."

Not one to complain about getting out of anything even close to water, Tirra just spun back toward the pod with a contented sigh. Then she spun back again with a somewhat less-contented shriek.

Spur's sword was in her hands with a decidedly unladylike roar in the time it took her to process Tirra standing on one foot, clawblades waving frantically above the surface of the bog. "What?!?"

"It moved!"

There was a pause, then Lacey hopped back and even Spur flinched as the algae suddenly began to bubble.

"What's going on?"

The question was directed at Lacey, who was furiously stabbing at the display on the Scan-Bot even as her tattoos unwittingly began to glow blue with psychic potential. "I don't know! Just don't move!"

Tirra swallowed. "Um...could I ask a really, really terrifying, nightmarish question?"

"No." "No!"

Tirra swallowed again anyway, eyes flitting back and forth every time a new ripple appeared. "If the algae's the only living thing here...what does it eat?"

Lacey and Spur shared a wide-eyed stare, and the Granok tightened her grip on her sword. "Oh, you gotta be kiddin' me!"

"Calm down!" Lacey's eyes were back on the display. "According to the scanner, the algae's just breaking down sulfur and chlorine. Probably from th..." She blinked. Then she cleared her throat.

"From the what?"

"Lace?"

The human licked her lips. "Okay. So, I'm going to say a word. And then after I say that word, we're going to run back to the pod very fast. Okay?"

"Lacey, from the what?"

Lacey winced. "Geysers."

In the expanse of algae between them, there was a muffled pop. The only one to react in time was Spur.

Even then, all she was able to say was:

"Aw, chadh!"

* * *

Johannes Edger was the mechanic assigned to the Bearcat. This was less because of his engineering skill, which was passable at best, and more because the pod was almost as old as he was and he was the only one left who even knew what model it was.

Still, the fat, grandfatherly old man liked his job. His girls, as he thought of the crew, always took care of their ship, leaving him with nothing more demanding than light maintenance and the occasional paint touch-up. What was more, since he'd never had grandchildren (his only son's interests lying rather decidedly elsewhere) he felt rather protective of the young ladies of Recon Team C. It made his old heart swell to see them strut down the ramp after a successful mission.

Or, in this case, to see Spur's head pop out furtively from around the edge of the hatchway. "Edger. Is Team B still waiting for clearance?"

The old mechanic scratched at his nose. "Well, no. They left for perimeter patrol about...an hour ago?"

"Oh, thank you, merciful ancestors..."

As the crew stepped down to the deck, his eyes went wide. All three of them were wet, slimy, and decidedly blue-green from head (or in Tirra's case, ear) to toe. Spur swiped a hand across her eyes, revealing the gray stone and furious scowl underneath. Drawing on his experience in the field of being married for fifty-two years, he didn't say a single word.

Spur let out a snort, and Edger once again said nothing even as bubbles bulged from the team leader's nose. "Edger, call the captain, please. Tell him we'll be a few minutes late to the debriefing."

"Right. I'll...right."

He gave Tirra and Lacey a sympathetic smile as they sloshed miserably past him, Tirra's fingers trying to run comfortingly through Lacey's hair but mostly just combing away handfuls of gunk. "It's okay, she knows it's not your fault. Let's just go take a shower."

Lacey's slouched shuffle immediately straightened up. "You don't...you mean showers."

Tirra rolled her eyes. "Well, how do you expect to reach that spot on your back all by yourself? Or me to make sure the base of my tail's clean?"

Lacey, who couldn't seem to say no to the Aurin even when she wasn't covered in half an inch of blue slime, just let herself slump all over again.

Back on the Bearcat's little patch of hangar, Edger was smiling and rubbing his pudgy hands together. "All right now, sweetheart. What say we get you cleaned up too?"


	4. Meet the Stalker

**Character: Private Tirra Nearfire**

**Race: Aurin**

**Q:** Thanks for letting me do this interview.

**A:** Hey, no problem! My squad mates are so gloomy all the time, it's nice to sit down with someone who actually wants me to talk!

**Q:** Your squad mates? Tell me about them.

**A:** Well, Spur's in charge, and I guess she's pretty good at it. Better than I'd be, anyway. Although she does seem to yell at me a lot. I guess it must be hard on her, with her dad and everything. Combine that with being a Granok, and I guess it's no wonder she's always in a bad mood.

**Q:** Right...who else is in your squad?

**A:** Just Lacey. Oh, Lacey...she's a real sweetheart! So quiet, though, and she blushes all the time. I'd tell her how cute it was, but that would probably just make her even quieter.

**Q:** You, uh, seem to like Lacey a lot.

**A:** Oh, I love her to bits! She's like the sister I never had. Well, except I don't really think of her like a sister and I actually have six...

**Q:** Wait. You have six sisters?

**A:** Yep. And three brothers.

**Q:** Is that a normal size for an Aurin family?

**A:** Well no, not really. But since we joined the Fleet and everybody has to conserve resources, most Aurin couples decide to only have the one litter.

**Q:** Um...right. Anyway, back to your squad. What exactly do you do?

**A:** Well, the Recon Teams do anything that needs someone to leave the Fleet for a while. Our team usually ends up getting food or fuel, which I guess is better than being cooped up on the ship all the time. I kind of wish we got to do some of the more exciting stuff, though.

**Q:** Like what?

**A:** Well, Teams A and B go out to map new routes. If a Dominion patrol gets too close, they even go make up a distraction so the Fleet can get away! But I guess the captain doesn't want Spur to get hurt or something, because we never get to do that kind of stuff.

**Q:** So you want to fight the Dominion?

**A:** Well...I mean, I guess I'm better at hiding and making things than I am at fighting. But if you're asking whether I think we should make them pay for what they did, then you're damn right I do!

**Q:** You mean what they did to Arboria?

**A:** We...we can all feel it, you know that? I mean, it happened before I was born, but Aurin can feel the sensations coming off all sorts of living things, and that includes each other. That means the memory of watching the forest burn...it gets passed down. Even though I wasn't there, I know what it was like...

**Q:** I...I had no idea. I'm sorry.

**A:** Most humans don't really understand. I think Lacey does, though. She never talks about it, but it seems like she's feeling a lot more of people's pain than she lets on. Maybe that's part of why I like her so much...I just wish she felt like she could tell me about it, you know? Sorry, what were we talking about?

**Q:** I think we can probably wrap up for now. Thanks for your time.

**A:** No problem, it was fun! Hey...I don't suppose you know how to play Transcenda...


	5. Underway

"Ah! Nothing like the vast expanse of the universe stretching out in front of you, is there, Vexler? All those foreign stars shining forth, crying out to be gathered to the supple bosom of the Dominion! To suckle at the teat of justice and enlightenment after so long wailing into the unfeeling vastness of the black and terrible void."

"Indeed, sir. Most evocative." Even if it were possible for a Mechari to look anything other than flatly uninterested, the one standing at attention next to the captain's chair probably still wouldn't have.

"We should count ourselves lucky, Vexler. To be granted the opportunity to not only see the true majesty of the universe, but to forge out into it to secure the glory of the Dominion, now and forever!"

"Exactly what I was thinking, sir."

While the middle-aged Cassian in the garish black and red uniform continued to rant at his similarly-liveried attache, the two younger, more practically-dressed humans stationed at the front of the bridge just tried to ignore him.

The red-haired Kepler leaned in toward his navigator. "How exactly did we end up crewing for Lord Silk-Petticoats, again?"

The tall, dusky brunette tried to hide her smile. "You mean given how much respect you usually show our commanding officers? I can't imagine."

"Is there a problem of which I should be made aware, Officer Atero?"

She gave the pilot a sharp glance, then cleared her throat. "No, sir. Officer Kepler and I were just wondering, sir, why a high-ranking nobleman such as yourself would take on such a dangerous mission," which meant 'we were wondering who you pissed off to get exiled to a tiny little scout ship whose mission's basically a joke.'

Captain Tyrian's chest puffed out authoritatively, or at least authoritatively enough given the circumstances. "Well, when one has had personal contact with the Emperor as I have, his patriotism and selflessness can inspire one to great deeds of heroic action," which meant 'they all said she was His Excellency's niece, but I just didn't listen, did I?'

The captain cleared his throat. "Has our late arrival made herself known?"

Atero checked her comm screen for the sixth time in as many minutes. "No sir. She should be arriving from the station any time, but she hasn't checked in yet."

"I don't check in."

Three pairs of eyes snapped around to the muscular, voluptuous Draken suddenly filling the rear hatch while one pair of ocular cameras stayed stubbornly forward. The Draken put on a slow, lazy grin as she stalked around the perimeter of the bridge, talons clicking on the decking and tail swishing seductively behind her.

"So this is the best they can do. Nice."

The captain cleared his throat. "Huntress Sorcha. I am Lord Adonis Percivan Arcosta Tyrian, Captain of the Crippling Blow. My aide, Vexler. It is a pleasure to have you aboard."

The huntress just hummed dismissively as she circled around to the two humans trying to focus on their stations. "Which one's mine?"

"I'm...sorry?"

"The male has better shoulders, but he stinks of fear. The female smells like she might fight, which isn't always a bad thing in a body slave. I suppose they could duel to the death..."

Kepler's eyes went wide and Atero swallowed as a long, delicate claw teased its way down the back of each of their necks. "Tell me, which of you has the stronger neck muscles?"

Captain Tyrian cleared his throat. "I'm afraid they won't be dueling to the death, Huntress, as Officer Kepler and Officer Atero are both quite indispensable for the operation of the ship."

"Hmm, well, I suppose they can draw lots, then." She turned her predatory gaze on the captain, and thus didn't see the other two humans collapse against their consoles. "So. I'll be helping you hunt down the Traitor Fleet, is that it?"

"Yes, we'll be sweeping the outlying systems of the Glittering Ridge and moving inward toward the core."

"Just one little ship?"

Tyrian puffed out his chest again. Opposite Sorcha's feral smirk, it didn't really have the same impact. "Even the most compact Dominion ship is more than a match for that hodge-podge of hundred-year-old scraps, Huntress."

"Really? I've heard tales of the Exiles taking on pirate fleets and merchant caravans. They're good hunters, Captain."

"Better than you, Huntress?"

Sorcha's smirk widened. "You know, I like you." She brushed past him on her way toward the hatch. "Try to play on my pride again, and I'll like you with sauce."

As she swayed her way down the passage to the crew quarters, Captain Tyrian swallowed. And crossed his legs. "Take us out, Officer Kepler."

Kepler and Atero shared a glance that asked whether it was too late to get reassigned to a garbage transport. The pilot took a deep breath. "Aye, Captain."

"This promises to be a most...fascinating adventure, doesn't it, Vexler?"

If it were possible for a Mechari to sigh, Vexler probably would have.

"Indeed, sir."


	6. Garden Party

Like most ships in the Exile Fleet, the Pint of Bitter had a garden.

This might sound uncharacteristic or even frivolous until one considers—or has a defensive, excitable Aurin botanical engineer explain to one—that a starship is a closed system. It has air and water that need to be purified, it has nutritional needs that have to be met, and most importantly it has a crew that need something pretty to look at to keep them from going crazy and going skinny-dipping out the nearest airlock.

This last reason is why most ship gardens on the Exile Fleet were constantly crawling with Aurin. Of course, by mathematical and bureaucratic coincidence, the Pint of Bitter had only one Aurin aboard.

Lacey knocked on the frame of the hatchway leading into the small domed compartment at the top of the ship, hydroponic troughs and planters overflowing with greenery. The red-haired Aurin crying in the middle of them looked up.

Lacey smiled. "Thought I might find you here." Tirra scrubbed furtively at the tear-tracks on her cheeks, which Lacey graciously pretended not to notice in favor of the tray she carried in. "I brought you something to eat."

"Thanks." Tirra sniffed. "What is it?"

"Mush."

Tirra's button nose wrinkled. "What kind?"

"Mushy."

"My favorite."

Lacey set the tray down and slid to the deck across from Tirra, watching as the redhead began to tentatively scoop up the yellow-gray slop with her fingers; as the Aurin had often said, utensils were for species who didn't get along with their food.

When Tirra paused to lick her fingers, Lacey pursed her lips. "Is everything all right, Ti?"

Tirra blushed, an unprecedented anomaly at which Lacey couldn't help but stare.

"I'm fine. I just...I think I might be a little homesick."

"You know...there are shuttles going across the Fleet every day. You could just go see them."

The Aurin let out a snort. "Oh yeah, the rest of the litter would love that. Here comes puffed-up little Tirra, running back to Mama with her tail between her legs..."

"But half your sisters still live with your parents."

"Yeah and the ones who don't, we're saying that we could take care of ourselves." She sniffed. "I'll be fine."

Lacey patted Tirra's knee gently, and the Aurin gave her a curious glance that made her squirm. "What?"

"I was just thinking...you know all about my family, but you never talk about yours."

Lacey shrugged awkwardly. "There's nothing to talk about. My parents are on the Palladium, I don't have any brothers or sisters..."

"Yeah, but...you never talk about how you grew up. I want to know what you were like as a kit."

"Look, there's really not much to tell. I was born, I was raised, I trained to be an Esper, I was assigned here." She briefly met the Aurin's earnest gaze from beneath her eyelashes. "I'm not as interesting as you think I am, Ti."

Tirra just held her gaze with a smile. Eventually, she broke it with a yawn, and Lacey cleared her throat.

"Anyway. The real reason I'm here is that Spur was looking for us. One of the fuel tankers had an exo breach, started venting crystals into space. We go on pick-up duty first shift, so..."

"Right." Tirra looked slowly around at the lush greenery, a stark contrast against the yellow-brown metal and faded caution labels of the bulkheads. "I think...is it okay if I just sleep here?"

When her head came to rest against Lacey's chest, it confirmed that what she'd really meant was 'is it okay if _we_ just sleep here?'

She was out before Lacey could offer an opinion one way or the other. The human sighed, but not too much. She pushed Tirra's floppy ear out of her face, leaned back, and tried to make herself comfortable.

If this kept up, she'd have to talk to someone about completing the garden with some grass...


	7. Meet the Warrior

**Character: Corporal Spur Grayback**

**Race: Granok**

**Q:** Corporal, thank you for taking the time to do this interview.

**A:** Uh-huh.

**Q:** So you're the leader of Recon Team C. What can you tell us about it?

**A:** We do our job. And it's the reason you can afford to sit around askin' people questions for a living.

**Q:** Right. Thanks for that. Can you tell me a little about the women under your command?

**A:** Well, there's Private Nearfire and there's Private Lacey. Nearfire's...well, an Aurin. Not sure what she's doin' on a Recon Team, actually, but she does the job. Lacey's competent and respectful, which is all I really care about, but as a bonus she keeps the Aurin in line.

**Q:** Really? I've heard rumors that Lacey has some sort of dark past...

**A:** 'Dark past?' Where the hell d'you think you are? Ain't a lot of sunny childhoods growin' up on the Fleet.

**Q:** On that note, I understand the captain of the Pint of Bitter, Gran Grayback, is your father.

**A:** Is there a question in there somewhere?

**Q:** Well...what's that like?

**A:** Oh, it's super! Sometimes when I'm really good, Daddy lets me sit in his lap and fly the ship like a big girl! Are you kiddin' me?

**Q:** Um...well, I just meant...there must be a lot of pressure on you as the captain's daughter.

**A:** Oh, right. Of course. And here I thought the pressure was from bein' a Recon leader with the lives of everyone on the Fleet on my shoulders.

**Q:** Well, I mean...that is a very prestigious position.

**A:** What are you saying?

**Q:** Er, nothing, I...

**A:** Listen good, you little chadh, my father never handed me a damn thing! I got here the only way a Granok ever gets anything, and that's by standin' up and takin' it!

**Q:** I...

**A:** You think I haven't been hearin' this  <REDACTED> my whole career? I do the job, and I do it better than anyone! That not enough for you?

**Q:** Um...I think we're done here. Thank you for your time.

**A:** Whatever. I got work to do.


	8. A Fine Mess

Given that the Crippling Blow was such a tiny—or as Captain Tyrian would say, stealthy and smartly-designed—ship, it didn't really have a mess hall. It didn't even really have a galley. What it had, in a display of the kind of revolutionary efficiency the Dominion could be counted on displaying when it saved enough money, was a counter in the reactor room with a box to heat up rations and dispensers for water and coffee. And since it was all they had, that was where Kepler and Atero were sitting.

"She just...doesn't she creep you out?"

"No argument from me," Atero said around a mouthful of what, if she were in a better mood, she might have charitably interpreted to be 'pasta.' She swallowed. "All Draken creep me out. The women especially, I mean, their faces look kind of human, and then you see those teeth..."

Kepler cleared his throat. "Yeah. They are kind of...predatory. And...forceful. And...shapely."

Atero stopped chewing in favor of rolling her eyes straight out the back of her head. "Ugh. Really? You can't be serious. You're actually into...are they even mammals?"

Kepler's cheeks were approximately the same color as his hair. "Well...the Huntress does have certain...mammalian characteristics."

Luckily, Atero had just swallowed, which prevented her for spitting a mouthful of government-issue 'food' all over his face as she started laughing. "Oh, of course! Of course that's what it's about! What is it with you men? I've seen trained Legionaries drooling on themselves over a Mechari...a robot...just because it happened to be hammered into the right measurements. You really are easy to please, aren't you?"

Kepler shrugged dismissively. "Well, I...what measurements?"

They were sitting too far apart for the brunette to slap him upside the head. She tried anyway.

"Is it just me, or is the food on this ship even worse than back on the base?"

Atero smirked. "Well, maybe the Huntress would share some of whatever she's killed recently, if you ask nicely. Why don't you go to her quarters and see?"

Kepler visibly shrank back. Huntress Sorcha's quarters had become an object of no small terror and curiosity to the more vulnerable half of the small crew ever since she'd hung a skull on the door. Not an animal skull.

Their reverie on the exact contents of the living quarters of the woman who apparently still considered them both as potential slaves or potential meat was broken momentarily by the arrival of Vexler. The stately Mechari said nothing, simply taking one of the small identical boxes from the shelf under the counter, nodding to acknowledge that he was, in fact, aware they existed, and turning to walk out again.

When he was sure the Mechari was out of earshot, which was a considerable distance for something created to be a spy, Kepler cleared his throat. "What do you suppose is in those, anyway? What do you think His Lordship's eating while we're on x-rations?"

Atero frowned. As far as she was concerned, the pilot's interest in things other than obeying orders was potentially very unhealthy for a junior officer. "Why don't you pop one open? I'm sure Vexler won't notice, and I'm sure when he doesn't notice he won't tell the captain. And I'm sure when Vexler doesn't tell him, the captain won't mind."

Kepler cast one more curious glance down at the shelf, the long silver boxes gleaming tastefully next to the plastic sleeves that contained their own rations. Then he sighed and stuck another forkful of whatever he was eating into his mouth.

It tasted sort of like fish, he thought. It sort of wasn't.


	9. Cleanup

The Exile Fleet was, all things considered, remarkably self-sufficient. Its gardens and algae tanks meant it could produce some of its own food and filter most of its own air and waste water, and a chronically bored population living in extremely close quarters meant it had no trouble keeping its numbers up. However there was one thing that, despite the increasingly desperate schemes of engineers and scientists, the Fleet could only acquire by mining, trading, or outright stealing.

That thing was currently streaming out of a hole in a huge tanker ship at a rather alarming rate.

The purple crystals floating lazily through space were one of several dozen forms of fuel the ships of the Fleet had been adapted to use, and ranged in size from a human fingernail to the entire hand. Every single one of them was precious.

That was why there were almost two dozen tiny ships, pods and, when all else failed, people in patched, ill-fitting vacuum suits floating through the cloud trailing glowing particle nets. In the middle floated the Bearcat.

"There's a run of smaller crystals bleeding off the far side of the cloud," Lacey muttered as her eyes swept over the instrument panels in front of her. As usual, she was in the navigator's seat, Tirra was beside her operating the thrusters, and Spur was hunched uncomfortably behind them in the broken crash seat they'd all silently agreed to refer to as the captain's chair.

"Tirra, let's get it."

"Aye aye, Captain!"

Spur rolled her eyes. "Lacey...out of idle curiosity..."

"We have four-thousand eighty-eight grams. Casper has four-thousand two-hundred. This should put us over the top."

Spur just gave a business-like nod, jaw even more stone-like than usual. Helping the Fleet was what came first, of course, but there was no reason that couldn't coincide with knocking the smug little turds on Recon B down a peg or two.

"We've got it all. Four-thousand three-hundred fifteen." Before Spur could open her mouth, Lacey's console pinged again. "Message from the crew sealing the breach."

The gruff, distinctly-Granok voice crackling over the speakers was staticky, but still perfectly intelligible. "Crystal cut one of the lines! Zachaev's floating! Who's closest?"

"Triumph's closer, but they're heading the wrong direction."

"This is the Bearcat, we're on it."

It wasn't long before they could see the wayward engineer, twirling slowly away from the tanker propelled by a thin stream of leaking oxygen.

"Can we catch him with the airlock?"

Tirra rolled her eyes. "Please. Give me something hard."

Spur was out of her seat, pulling on a vacuum mask and stepping into the airlock to the left of the cramped compartment. The hatch hissed shut, and Tirra spun the ship. All three held their breath.

They only let it out when Zachaev did. Coughing and gasping where Spur had dropped him to the deck, he lifted his thumb.

"The crystal cut his air line. We should get him back to the Fleet."

Spur just nodded. "Yeah."

As Tirra's hands went back to the controls, Lacey's console beeped. "Triumph's got four-thousand six-hundred."

Spur sighed. "Figures. Let's get him back to the Fleet."

* * *

As befit its quasi-military nature, commendations on the Fleet were always a matter of some ceremony. As befit the 'quasi' part, said ceremony usually didn't involve the giving of an actual medal so much as a grandiose summary of one's accomplishment and a ration coupon or a bottle of moonshine.

In this case, it meant Recon B, C, and D lined up in the hangar, getting a personal congratulation from the Captain.

Captain Grayback was not much of a speaker. He informed them that Ernst Zachaev was recovering well, was very grateful, and wished he could be there. Then he walked down the line, shaking each of their hands exactly once and thanking them for their continued dedicated service to the Fleet and to each other. Then he was gone.

Spur's eyes didn't follow him out of the hangar. Tirra's did, before turning to Diego Casper and his men, grinning and laughing as they debated what to do with their pool winnings. "Can anyone explain to me why they get a commendation for something we did?"

"Captain can't play favorites," Spur muttered.

As the Granok broke off ponderously toward the hangar's other exit, Tirra just shook her head and shot Lacey a skeptical glance. Lacey cleared her throat.

"Why don't we go back to our quarters. You can...try to teach me Transcenda again."

Just like that, Tirra brightened. "About time! Maybe you're finally ready for the grown-up rules..."


End file.
